Saddle the Wind (14 page)

When she straightened a few moments later he stepped out of the tub and drew her naked body to his.

‘Oh, I do love you, Sare.’

‘I love you too, Ollie.’

Gently, he kissed her. ‘It’s going to be all right,’ he said against the softness of her damp, sweet-smelling hair. ‘It’s going to be all right. It will.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘We’re going to be happy, all of us.’

‘I am happy, Ollie. I’m happy now.’

He kissed her again, a long kiss this time, and as she felt his lips on hers, soft, warm, she knew that she had never loved him more than she did now. She became aware of him growing harder against her belly and then a moment later she felt his hand, low down, as his fingers moved between her legs. Then his lips left her mouth and he said softly, urgently, ‘Come on – before the children get back. They’ll be home before we know it.’

Taking her hand he began to lead her from the kitchen and into the little front parlour. ‘Wait – one moment,’ she said, and went back to the scullery and wheeled the perambulator with the sleeping infant into the kitchen. ‘There,’ she said, ‘– we’ll hear her if she wakes and cries.’

Ollie had pulled the curtains closed and as she turned the key in the lock he spread a blanket on the rug before the fire. They lay down together on the blanket and, putting off the prize moments, kissed and fondled one
another. Time had gone by, though, and all too soon they could hear the sounds of the children’s return. Sarah sat up. After a moment there came the sound of the door handle being tried and she got to her feet and moved to the door. ‘Don’t wake the baby,’ she whispered loudly and then added, ‘What do you want?’

‘Can we come in?’ Ernest’s voice came whispering in reply.

‘No – not right now.’

Ollie came and stood at Sarah’s side. ‘You and your sisters go and play outside for another ten minutes,’ he said.

‘Oh, Ollie,’ Sarah whispered to him, ‘they’ll be all right in the kitchen.’

‘No,’ he replied, ‘they’ll wake the baby.’

Sarah nodded and then called softly through the door:

‘Do as your father says – but don’t get dirty.’

The children went away then and, hearing the silence in the house again, Sarah moved back to where Ollie was settling himself on the rug once more.

After closing the scullery door behind him Ernest quickly started off along the lane. When Mary called after him, asking where he was going, he answered that he was going into the village to rejoin his friends. Mary shrugged, without interest, but Arthur started forward, eager to join him. He was too late, though; in just another moment Ernest was turning the corner out of sight.

‘You can come with me if you want to,’ Mary said to him as he came back.

‘Where to?’ he asked.

‘Up on the hill.’ Mary smiled. ‘We’ll go and fly my kite.’

With her words she turned back to the cottage, went
round to the back and softly opened the door into the scullery. On the table lay the kite with its pattern of pink and yellow roses. In a moment it was in her hands and she was letting herself out again. She smiled triumphantly at the other two as she rejoined them in the lane. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We mustn’t be long.’

At the end of the lane she came to a halt and gazed up at the hill. This morning, with her father at her side the hill had not seemed so far away. Now the distance was daunting. After a second she turned and looked off to the left. ‘No,’ she said with a shake of her head, ‘we won’t go up onto the hill. It’s too far. We’ll go up there – up on the Ridge.’

‘Oh, no, Mam’ll be angry if we go up there,’ Arthur said. ‘And Papa will be, too.’

As Agnes voiced her agreement Mary quickly said, ‘Papa won’t be angry with me – not on my birthday.’ She paused. ‘And anyway, we shan’t be up there very long.’ Then without waiting to see whether they were with her she left the lane and started up the steep, winding track.

Holding the kite carefully in her hands Mary led the way up the steep, meandering path, Arthur and Agnes, anxious not to be left behind, following close on her heels. The wind was stronger and colder the higher they climbed and at any other time Mary would have wanted to turn back. Today, though, was different. Today was her birthday and she had the kite. Also, in the absence of Ernest, she was the eldest of the three children.

It took much longer to get to the top than she had anticipated and when they were there the wind buffeted them, snatched at their clothes and tugged at the kite in her cold hands. They wouldn’t stay long, she decided, just long enough to fly the kite once. Then they would go down again.

It was strange up here, and she felt a little afraid. They were very high up. Over to the right beyond the pathway stood the spindly little trees and shrubs that marked the edge of the Cut. Above was nothing but the sky. Moving closer to the edge she could see beyond the trees, down below, the thatched roofs of the cottages.

‘I don’t like it up here,’ Agnes said. ‘I want to go home.’ Her voice had a faintly nervous ring to it.

‘Oh, Aggie, not yet,’ Mary quickly replied. ‘We haven’t flown my kite yet.’

‘I don’t care,’ Agnes said. ‘I want to go home. Besides, I’m cold.’

‘Oh, please, Aggie.’ Mary’s voice was pleading. She didn’t want to be left up here alone, and at the same time she didn’t want to lose face by appearing too anxious to get back down again. ‘We’ll fly the kite just once and then we’ll go back, all right?’

Reluctantly Agnes nodded and Mary quickly began to unwind some of the string from the winding card. When she had unwound a good length she played out a little of it the way her father had shown her and then started off at a run, at the same time throwing the kite up into the wind.

And, miracle of miracles, the wind caught it at once.

Arthur and Agnes gave little whoops of joy while Mary cried out ecstatically, ‘Look! Look! It’s flying!’

Coming to a stop on the turf she let out more of the string until the kite was drifting high up above their heads. Proud, jubilant, she watched as it swayed in the air, swinging from side to side, a diamond of pink and yellow roses, straining at the string she held in her hand until, to make it easier to hold, she wound a little of it around her wrist.

And then all at once the kite did a somersault and began to dive downward. Mary gave a little cry of despair
and, in an effort to keep the kite aloft, leapt forward, turning as she did so, running backwards across the turf.

In the same moment that the wind snatched at the kite and flung it high into the air once more, Agnes and Arthur squealed out in horror. A second later, while their cries were still ringing in the air, Mary’s own shout of jubilation turned to a scream as her scampering feet took her out over the edge of the Cut.

To the terrified eyes of the two watching children it seemed that for a moment Mary hung there in the air, her arms and legs thrashing the wind, her mouth and eyes open wide as she shrieked in terror and surprise. The next moment she was gone.

For seconds Arthur and Agnes just stood and gaped. And then as one they reached out and groped for the other’s hand. Then, fearfully, slowly, they moved forward, creeping towards the chalky edge where the ground fell sheer away.

Five yards from the edge they stopped, too afraid to go nearer, and hands damp in one another’s grasp they stood there, white-faced in the teeth of the wind. Then after a few moments they turned and, shrieking out into the cold air, began to run back down the path towards the lane.

The bath water had been emptied away and the bath tub put into the scullery, there to wait until the children had their baths that evening before going to bed. Ollie, dressed again and wearing his worn old carpet slippers, sat in his chair beside the range reading a book. Sarah was laying the table for tea. Blanche was still sleeping. The cottage was peaceful.

Sarah was just setting out the bread when Arthur, with Agnes running screaming behind him, suddenly came bursting in at the back door, through the scullery and into the kitchen. ‘Quick! Quick!’ he yelled out. ‘Come quickly!’ His tear-filled eyes were wild and he was gasping for breath.

‘Easy, easy –’ Ollie started up from the chair, while Sarah put the bread down on the table and stepped forward. Blanche, disturbed by the noise of Agnes’s hysterical shrieks, awoke and began to cry. Arthur reached out, snatching Sarah’s hand. ‘Oh, Mam, come quickly – it’s Mary!’

Ollie’s book fell to the floor as he moved towards the boy. ‘Mary?’ he said. ‘What about her? Where is she?’

Agnes went on screaming, automatically now, as if she was no longer in control, and with the baby crying too it was hard for Sarah to tell what Arthur was trying to say as he sobbed and babbled incoherently against the din.

Thrusting Sarah aside, Ollie bent to the boy. ‘You say
Mary fell down?’ he shouted. ‘What d’you mean, she fell down?’

‘The Cut!’ Arthur cried out. He turned and pointed off. ‘
Mary – she fell over the edge!
’

Ollie’s face went chalk-white, and lashing out he struck the boy hard across the face. Then, even as Arthur reeled backwards Ollie was turning. A moment later he was flinging himself out of the door.

As the children had run towards the cottage their horror-stricken cries had attracted attention and now as Ollie ran along the lane some of the neighbours came from their doors to see what it was all about.

As Sarah emerged from the cottage moments afterwards she saw Esther Hewitt at her gate and she called out, her voice breaking with fear, ‘Oh, please – Esther – will you come in and stay with Blanche for a minute?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Esther nodded and began to hurry towards the Farrars’ gate. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘It’s Mary. Something’s happened to Mary.’

‘Oh, dear God …’

Sarah dashed on past and, with Arthur and Agnes running crying in her steps, ran after Ollie along the lane.

By the time she reached the foot of the Cut there were several people already there. They were standing motionless, silent, watching Ollie scramble down into the wide shallow basin at the foot of the great chalk cliff and pick his way across the rocks and rubble. Peering past him Sarah could see a little dark blue shape lying between him and the face of the cliff. It showed up starkly against the white of the chalk.

Sarah’s head swam and for a moment the sight receded and wavered before her. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest and her knees were so weak that
she felt they might give out beneath her. She had started to climb down into the rocky basin when she felt a hand snatch at her sleeve. Turning, she looked into the frightened, crying faces of Arthur and Agnes. ‘No – no,’ she cried out, her voice breaking, ‘go on back. Go on
back
!’

She was dimly aware then of Jack Hewitt standing there, and as she turned away she saw him bend and put his arms around the two children. Then, unsteadily, and feeling as if she were in some kind of nightmare, she stepped down into the basin and, in Ollie’s footsteps, started off across the rough, uneven surface.

She reached his side as he knelt down beside the little dark blue shape.

Mary’s body lay there like some rag doll, as if her limbs had no bones in them. She lay oddly twisted, her face pressed into the chalk floor, one arm flung out sideways and the other bent beneath her. Stripped of all dignity in the dying her skirt and petticoat had risen up around her waist so that her darned and patched drawers were exposed to the eyes of the onlookers. Her woollen hat had partly come off and her blonde hair streamed out over the chalk, now turning red beneath her head.

Silently Ollie bent and scooped the limp form up into his arms. As he lifted her up her head fell back and the blood poured out of her mouth. Her hat hung there briefly and then fell to the ground. Ollie remained standing there for a moment as if transfixed and then raising his head he opened wide his mouth and howled out, a long, hollow cry, like some animal in torment. Then, slowly, he sank down again until he was kneeling on the chalk, rocking backwards and forwards, Mary’s body held close to his chest, his right hand supporting her shattered skull.

Standing before him, blinded by her tears and feeling that she might choke on her despair, Sarah fell to her
knees and reached out her arms. Ollie, without even looking up, tightened his grip on Mary’s body and shrank back.

He stayed there for some seconds, bending over Mary’s body, and then he rose and began to move slowly away across the basin of the Cut. As he did so Sarah saw a pink and yellow shape moving behind him, trailing along in his wake. For a moment she didn’t know what it was, but then she realized that it was the kite, dragging and dancing over the rough ground, still held by the string around Mary’s wrist.

The leaden days that followed seemed to Sarah to pass by without recognizable shape or pattern. Later she would look back and see it all as a blur of shifting images, a series of incidents that stood out in her mind like pictures in a book. Somehow over that time things were taken care of. Somehow all the necessary jobs were done. She didn’t remember when, but at some time that evening Esther Hewitt took Blanche back to Hallowford House, and somehow Sarah set a part of her numbed mind to feeding the children. Life had to go on.

Someone had sent for Dr Harmon, but he was not at home, so word had gone then to Dr Kelsey. He came at once and went straight to Ollie and Sarah’s bedroom where Ollie had placed Mary’s body on the bed. There Kelsey found that, apart from the child’s broken skull, her neck and spine had also been shattered. There would, of course, have to be an inquest, he said, but it would only be a formality.

He went away then saying that he would set in motion the necessary wheels for the inquest and also send for the Coolidges, the undertaker and his wife who would come and lay out the body.

Mrs Coolidge came soon after the doctor’s departure. She had heard the news and was waiting for the summons. On her arrival she was shown up to the bedroom where she began to lay out the body.

As Mrs Coolidge worked upstairs James Carver, Mr
Savill’s groom, came with a letter for Ollie. There was no answer required, James said, and Sarah thanked him and he went away again. In the kitchen Sarah went to Ollie where he sat beside the range. He made no move to take the letter, nor showed any interest in it. After a moment she opened it and read it aloud. Mr Savill had written of his great regret at their sad loss and then gone on to say that Ollie need not report for work until he was ready to, and that his wages would not be affected. Ollie made no comment.